


Going Under

by Kitashi



Series: Through Eyes of Courts and Fate [3]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOTAR Chapter 28, ACOTAR Era Fic, Gen, I'm sorry but this is going to have a sad fox in it, Lucien POV, Poor Lucien just can't catch a break, but he also gets to heavily disapprove of Tamlin, so truce?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 01:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10583400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitashi/pseuds/Kitashi
Summary: ACOTAR Chapter 28 and the aftermath from Lucien's POVThere were only days left to break the curse, and Tamlin chose to damn us all.All for the safety of one mortal girl.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Three fics in a seven day period! I honestly can't believe how much I've gotten done so far! Thank you guys for all the sweet comments and kudos on my fics this week! It's been absolutely heartwarming and so motivating, and I really can't thank you enough <3
> 
> You can thank @illyriantremors from dissuading me from making this a Tamlin fic. THIS STARTED AS A TAMLIN POV. But we both agreed no one wanted to be in Tamlin's head in ACOTAR (not when we have Rhys lol) and have to suffer through more than implied Feylin. So instead you get Lucien and his disappointment with Tamlin's inaction lol
> 
> And this inspired another Lucien alternate POV for ACOMAF, so we shall see how it works out (I just really love Lucien, he needs more love).
> 
> Hope you all enjoy! :D

Feyre walked down the stairs in the most hideous outfit I’d seen in centuries. The layered pink silk dress and white jacket made her look ridiculous. Topped off with the most absurd little decorative hat—some human fashion, I’d be willing to wager—I couldn't help but snort at her appearance. “Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm.”

“I’m not sure the human realm would know what to do with you,” she said with what I swore was affectionate sarcasm.

I tried to smile, but I couldn't even pretend to be happy about this. I looked sharply at Tamlin, who stood in front of a gilded carriage, waiting for her patiently, as though this wasn't as final as it really was. Waiting to send her away. “I thought you were smarter than this,” I said as I turned back to her. Indeed, I really had. But it wasn't her fault that we couldn't tell her the truth of our curse. I had to remind myself of that. It wasn't her fault.

“Good-bye to you, too,” she said sarcastically. I shook my head and stalked towards Tamlin, ignoring his very clear warning growl.

“You're not even going to give her a few more days? Just a few—before you send her back to that human cesspit?” I demanded. A last plea.

“This isn't up for debate,” Tamlin snapped, pointing at the house. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

I stared him down, but I didn't even have words to express my disgust with him right now. I spat on the ground at his feet, and without waiting for his reaction, stormed up the stairs to the manor. I couldn't be there for this. I would likely get myself killed for insubordination if I stayed any longer, curse notwithstanding.

I watched her talk to Tamlin from my window, too far away to hear what they were saying even with it open. I watched him kiss her goodbye and the carriage to the Mortal Realm drive away until I couldn't see even the silhouette anymore. Watched as our last—and only—hope disappeared through the gates. I didn't go down to lunch.

~~~

Three days passed, and when I woke on the morning of the forty-ninth anniversary of our lives going to hell, I knew with a sinking feeling that the end was upon us. She hadn't come back. But then why would she? It wasn't like Tamlin had tried to keep her here in the end. I knew I was being unfair to him—he couldn't have told her anymore than we could. But that didn't stop me from feeling more than a little animosity towards my High Lord and oldest friend. I had just finished dressing and looked once more beyond the gate—as though I would miraculously see Feyre running up the drive in the last few moments, here to save us. But the gates remained shut.

I heard the shift of fabric behind me.

“You let her go.” I didn't have to turn around to know Tamlin stood in the doorway behind me. We had somehow managed to avoid each other, though it had probably been for the better.

“I did.” His answer was simple. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world to have done. I turned to Tamlin, who hadn't moved an inch. He looked like hell—as though the curse was now sapping strength directly from him. But instead of feeling sympathy, I felt a chasm of rage and sorrow rip through me.

“You let her go, and in turn, damned us all.” I waved a hand to the rest of manor behind him, to the lands beyond our borders. “You have damned Prythian to protect _one_ mortal woman, who could have _saved us all_ if you hadn't—”

“Lucien,” he said wearily. “This was not her battle—”

“You made it her battle when you brought her here!” I snapped. “You made it her battle when you sent Andras out and she fulfilled the requirements to be our salvation by killing him with hate in her heart. This all comes back to _you_.” I could feel myself shaking in anger now. “Do you really think that she will leave Feyre alone? If she doesn't go after her immediately, she will tire of Prythian eventually.”

“And hopefully by that time Feyre will have passed on and be out of her clutches.” I gaped at my oldest friend.

“You really don't care what happens to us, do you?” I asked softly, but the defeated look in his eyes was answer enough. Any remaining wisp of hope I had of getting free from this metal mask, of living without the fear that any moment we would be whisked Under the Mountain, was crumbling into nothingness. “So what are you going to do? Just sit here and wait for her to take you away?”

Tamlin turned without answering, leaving the doorway. I followed after him through the halls, and watched as he walked to the head of the table, taking a seat. The table filled with food as it always did, and Tamlin grabbed a roll & a knife. He gestured to my usual seat with the knife.

“The food is going to get cold.”

“Tamlin-”

“This is not up for discussion, Lucien,” he answered harshly. “Now eat.” He tore open the roll with more force than was necessary, and reached for a helping of potatoes.

I let out a ragged sigh, the pit of my stomach feeling like it was in a free fall. The last thing I wanted to do was eat. But even in my reckless anger, I didn't dare ignore the command in his voice and sat in my usual seat.

The table seemed so empty without her here. Even though we had spent so many years exactly like this, content if not for the weight of the curse bearing on us… for the first time it felt like something was missing. I hated to admit that a murderous, brash, and uncouth mortal girl had somehow wormed her way under my skin and made me not only respect her, but made me come to count her as a friend.

I looked at the only real one I had remaining now as he cut into his food, acting like we could just go on with our lives and pretend that Feyre had never existed. That our time wasn't going to be up at any—

The glass of the windows around us shattered simultaneously. I hunched down and covered my face out of reflex, and a loud crack echoed through the room as I heard the doors slam against the wall. There was the crunch of footsteps walking over broken glass, and I looked up slowly.

As though my thoughts had summoned him, Rhysand sauntered into the room with a feline grin. “That's all right Tamlin, I’ll just let myself in. No need to answer the door or anything. Though it seems my timing was perfect.” He took the seat opposite from Tamlin—the one Feyre used to occupy—and helped himself to a roll and a bit of jam. He looked over at me and narrowed his eyes, though the smirk stayed in place. “I’m surprised to see you here, Little Lucien. I’d have thought you would have run for the hills before I arrived.” He took a bite of the roll, and I could feel my anger threatening to spill over.

“Just get on with it, Rhysand,” I gritted out. He clicked his tongue.

“I told you, only my enemies and prisoners call me that. Though I guess you technically _are_ , by virtue of me being Amarantha's whore and all.” He snagged a piece of meat from the center of the table. “Much as I would love to drag you both to our lovely home, I’m afraid this invitation is only for Tamlin. The rest of the Courts and their High Lords have already been summoned. All we need now is one more.” He looked around the table. “I see your _betrothed_ isn't here, Lucien. Did she see the error of her ways and run back to the Mortal Realms like a smart human? Or did you tell her what the Autumn Court does to those that don't meet their standards?”

A low blow, as always. But he was the High Lord of the Court of Nightmares. The only rules he played by were his own.

“Did you tell her?” Tamlin asked harshly. Rhysand turned towards him with a lazy smile and propped his chin on his fist.

“Tell her what?” Tamlin almost relaxed for a moment before Rhysand continued, “That you had an inconsequential mortal woman in your manor and that she was clearly in love with you?” He paused for a heartbeat before the smile turned smug. “What do you take me for?”

Tamlin let out an enraged roar and in the blink of an eye, he was suddenly frozen inches from Rhysand’s face, claws out, as though he had planned to rip his face off. Rhysand clicked his tongue again.

“I see even having a human here did nothing to tame the beast inside you.” He looked hard at Tamlin and pushed him back roughly into the chair. Tamlin landed like a rag doll in the seat and straightened up, freed of whatever spell had held him in place, and glared at the smirking bastard. “You had your fun,” Rhysand continued, “but now my queen demands her payment.”

“You came into my court uninvited,” Tamlin said stiffly. “I have grounds to declare—”

“Only you would try to invoke a rule that has had no absolutely no recourse in the last century.” Rhysand raised his eyebrow. “I _told_ you I was coming back.” He gestured to the broken glass on the floor and the doors, now hanging off of their hinges. “What part of this was not clear enough for you? But then you’ve known this day was coming for forty nine years.” He rose from the table. “Enough chit-chat though. It's time to go, Tamlin. Amarantha awaits.”

With all the dignity he could muster, Tamlin stood up from his chair.

“Tam—” I started. Rhysand looked at me, as though considering something.

“On second thought, perhaps you should come with us, Lucien. The entire manor _is_ surrounded by Amarantha’s army, and if I leave you here, the chances of you surviving are not high. But you are welcome to make a choice.”

“What's in it for you?” I snapped. He had no reason to let me live. He’d said it himself; the invitation, if it could be called that, was only for Tamlin.

“I owe you no explanations,” he said dismissively. “Though if you would rather stay, I’m sure at least your mother will mourn you. But if you are coming, I’d suggest moving before the next turn of the century.”

I scowled at him, but rose from my seat nonetheless. No matter what his motives were, I wasn't about to… how did the humans say it? Look a gift horse in the mouth? Feyre had apparently rubbed off on me more than I’d thought.

I followed Tamlin out into the garden. Sinister looking creatures—monsters really—truly did surround the manor, sharp teeth bared in bloodstained grins and claws extended. They parted for Rhysand without a word, though the feeling of their eyes on us as we passed sent chills up my spine.

“Round up the stragglers,” Rhysand said to them. “The queen wants them brought alive. I’ll join you in a moment.” He waved to the manor, and they began moving in. Tamlin didn't even look back. There were still people in there—those who called the Spring Court home. And he was _leaving them_.

“Tamlin—”

“He’s accepted his fate, fox-boy. We _all_ have. It's about time you joined the party.” There was a hint of bitterness in Rhysand’s voice. He turned to two sentries that waited away from the others—not as bloodthirsty, but no less lethal. “Take them to Her Majesty's court. The fox goes with the rest of the Spring Court. The High Lord goes before the queen.” A silent nod. I felt the cold, clammy hands that made me cringe grip my elbow tightly. In the blink of an eye, we were no longer in the garden, but a dark, cavernous hallway. I had been here only twice in the last hundred years, but I had always been able to leave. I knew as the guards opened the doors that I had seen the outside world for the last time. They ushered me to the side of the room, where I saw more masked fae—more of the Spring Court.

The regally dressed woman on the throne at the back of the room was one I had hoped to never see again. Tamlin's face was stoic—almost stone like—as he was led in and stood in the middle of her throne room. Amarantha gave him a serpentine smile, toying with the finger bone that hung around her neck with the hand that displayed an eye encased in crystal. Both, I knew from our past interactions, were Jurian’s. I was relieved to see the one she had taken from me had not joined it.

“Welcome home, Tamlin,” she purred, her eyes lowering in a way that I was sure she intended to be seductive.

He shrugged roughly out of the grasp of the guards, and walked up to the dais, avoiding the gaze of faeries that watched him from every corner of the room. Avoided the looks of disappointment—of despair—that were prominent on their faces. Those few remaining faeries who had hoped as I had that Tamlin would be their saving grace.

“It's been _such_ a long time,” she simpered and gestured to the seat next to her. “Your throne has been waiting for you, High Lord.” He showed no emotion, didn't speak a word. He ascended the steps and took the seat next to hers without a word, his posture uncomfortably rigid.

“Nothing to say, Tamlin? No thanks for me bringing you back instead of killing you where you stood?”

He still said nothing. Amarantha pouted.

“Is this the game we’re going to play now? Do you really believe that sitting in sullen silence is going to change anything?”

Tamlin stared at the wall ahead of him.

“Well, perhaps this will change your mind.” She clapped her hands. “We wanted to make your first day in my court _extra_ special,” Amarantha continued with a cruel grin, “and so we got you a little...  present.” She looked towards the back of the room. “Bring her in,” she ordered.

I felt sick fear in the pit of my stomach. The doors opened again, and the sentries dragged a struggling, sobbing girl through the murmuring crowd, followed by the Attor. They pushed her roughly to her knees in front of the dais.

“I don't know who this is,” Tamlin said evenly. I had never seen this girl before either. She was clearly mortal, but other than that, she looked like any other human to me.

“Now now, Tamlin,” she cooed, “you didn't _really_ think I wouldn't hear about your human pet, now did you?” Tamlin's eyes flicked to the side, to Rhysand, who leaned against the wall near him, a bored expression across his face, his hands shoved in his pockets. He had apparently snuck into the room when I hadn't been paying attention.

She turned to the frightened girl shaking at the foot of the dais.

“Is your name Clare Beddor?” she demanded.

The girl nodded, her face pale.

“Louder!” Amarantha demanded. The girl shrunk back in terror.

“Y-yes,” the girl stuttered. Clare Beddor… the name Feyre had given Rhysand when—

By the Cauldron.

I looked at the girl in horror. That name she had given him had been a real person. This girl—Clare—was supposed to be Feyre. But she didn't look anything like her. Rhysand _knew_ what Feyre looked like—

“Do you know this man?” Amarantha said suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. The girl shook her head emphatically.

“No! I’ve never seen him before in my life,” she insisted, her voice choked with tears. “My family…what did you do to my family?”

“Oh, I wouldn't be worrying about them, girl,” the Attor said from behind her, its voice cold and full of amused malice. “They have nothing to worry about anymore.” Clare turned back to the redheaded demon on the throne in front of her.

“Please, I—”

“Did you not go hunting at the Wall?”

“No, I—”

“Did you not kill a faerie in the woods?”

“No—”

“Did you not—”

“No!” The girl cried out in panic. “I don't know how! I’ve never hunted a day in my life and I’ve never seen a faerie before!”

“You dare lie to the High Queen of Prythian?” Amarantha demanded.

“I’m not—”

“You have guts, girl, I’ll give you that. I will enjoy watching them break you _slowly_.” She turned to the Attor and gave him a vile grin. “Give her a welcome worthy of my court.”

I could still hear her screams hours later, could still see her broken, bruised body as they nailed her to the wall across from Amarantha's throne.

As I fell into a fitful sleep that night, I thanked the Mother and the Cauldron it hadn't been Feyre.

And weeks later, after Clare had died suddenly in the middle of one of her public torture sessions, and I had finally let myself breathe as I thought Feyre was now finally safe, I watched her be brought before Amarantha's throne. She had come back to Prythian _looking for us_ , the stupid girl, and now was declaring to everyone that she had come for the one she loved. After half a century of waiting, she had come just weeks too late. As Feyre looked pleadingly at Tamlin sitting next to Amarantha, his stoic expression showing no love, no compassion, no recognition... I asked them why Fate had chosen to be so cruel.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought! All comments and suggestions are welcome, & if you have a POV/scene you would really like to see, please let me know! Thank you for reading!
> 
> Also, I have a writing Tumblr! If anyone is interested in talking & discussing ACOTAR, ACOMAF, or giving suggestions/asking questions, I can be found at _<http://kitashiwrites.tumblr.com>_.
> 
> Hope to see you there!


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